Hope Doesn't Have A Name
by A Bean
Summary: Alexander Hamilton is a runaway, abused foster kid who can't talk. Lafayette is a history freak who really likes to snoop in old buildings and take pictures. He's also the adopted son of George and Martha Washington, the richest people in New York City.
1. Prologue

Alexander sighed as he dropped his bag on the floor of the overly large loft apartment in New York. He stretched and yawned- it had been a long day. He ignored the pain in his upper body as he did, and rolled a shoulder, feeling it pop with a satisfying click.

He looked around the loft- it was entirely bare, no furniture was anywhere. The walls were painted white and accented with the brown of the wood beams supporting the ceiling. There was a huge window on the left wall, where he could easily envision couches and a coffee table, maybe. He walked over to it, leaving his bag where it was for the moment. Outside, the loft overlooked the city with its tall buildings and blinking lights, covered in a blanket of snow, the small flakes still falling. Alexander smiled to himself.

 _The City That Never Sleeps,_ he thought.

Choosing not to linger at the window too long- someone could see him, and he was on the run, so he didn't want to take that chance- he turned back to the entrance and grabbed his small leather bag, which held only three notebooks, a couple pens, and a day's change of clothes. The little money he had he stored in his shoe, as thieves on New York City streets were less likely to take his shoes straight off him.

He checked the rest of the loft to make sure no one was there. Nobody was, but the building was in bad shape. Holes were seen often in the wall, and there was a large section of the roof missing over what Alexander supposed was the kitchen. He shrugged- it wasn't the worst place he'd ever stayed in, and he was lucky it was here anyway.

He then found the warmest corner he could, and set his bag down to work as a pillow. The hoodie he'd had when he ran from the Je- _the place he wasn't thinking about-_ wasn't exactly the best, but nothing there had been. He lay down, his long hair he so detested splaying out beneath him. Slowly he drifted off to the sounds of the city below him, ignoring the pains all over his body.

* * *

Four months later, Alexander quietly slipped into the loft through a hole in the wall he preferred to use instead of the door. It opened into a room one over from his- well, he liked to think it was his-, which was the one with the least condition of all of them.

 _Stupid,_ his brain chastised. _Nothing is yours, you're a runaway that lives in New York who's afraid someone will walk into the most abandoned place you've seen and-_

He focused on his notebook, the last one with some room in it he hadn't yet used. He took his newest pen he'd found that day while rooting through trash bins- it really was quite pretty, he hadn't understood why anyone threw it out- and the words appeared on the page, and then the next, and then the last.

He sighed and looked wistfully at his notebook. It had only had three blank pages left, and filling those hadn't sated his craving to write. He took off his shoe and counted the money in it- one dollar and thirty-six cents. Definitely not enough to buy a new notebook.

 _You wouldn't be able to buy one anyway,_ his brain started again. _When was the last time you talked out loud?_

Alexander swallowed. He knew it was true. Talking was a bad habit for him- he could have gone on for six hours about something he really wanted once upon a time. His mouth had never seemed to stop, and it got him in more trouble he could have imagined. At school with teachers and other students alike, at the many homes he'd been forced to stay in by the foster care system, with the foster care system itself, with police and adults on the street, until he'd arrived at the Jef-

He paused.

Anyway, they'd beaten it into him that he was _not to talk_ and he had finally learned. Finally, after two years, he'd learned. He stayed with them for another four years and a word had never escaped him for fear of the belt that would swing towards him, and the fists and feet and everything hot and he'd still be beaten even for his silence and-

And eventually he'd run, run into the streets of the sleepless city and he'd managed to stay away from the family and the foster care system itself.

He sighed and looked out the window on the left, having given up on wishing for a new notebook and started wandering through the loft. It had been three years of living on the hard streets.

It had been seven years since he'd spoken. He highly doubted that he could do it now, even if he didn't have the same fear that had been instilled into him as a six-year-old.

He honestly didn't know why he still hid from the family and from the system in old buildings and in places on the sidewalk that were warm enough. This loft was the best thing that had happened to him in a long time. Four months here was a miracle.

He yawned and went back to his room, lying down on his bag, shivering, and fell asleep, dreaming of his mother and when they would have enough to eat, before she died and he had to go to America.

 _The supposed Promised Land,_ was his last thought before drifting off.


	2. Punishable

Alexander's hands stung, and he picked himself up from the ground.

"Scum!" A lady screeched at him, kicking him down again before leaving. If his voice worked, he would have groaned. His sock he'd been using to collect money from people- an old, ratty, grey sock- had been knocked out of his hand the first time the lady had struck, and he watched in fear as someone picked it up and ran off with it. He didn't blame them for doing so- they were probably another street kid like himself. He got up again, ignoring the wide range of looks from passer-by.

He sighed and turned into the nearest alleyway and examined his hands. He didn't see any large cuts that could possibly be infected, so he stuffed them into the pockets of his threadbare hoodie and shivered from the cold.

Why Alexander didn't steal from people he didn't know. He'd done it once and got away with it, but he couldn't bring himself to use the cash that had been in the wallet. There was an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear and surely his worst family would have beaten him for stealing it in the first place. He still had the wallet, in fact; it was stored in his bag and he pulled it out every time he was tempted to steal something just to get food.

He'd memorized every detail of the black leather. It had belonged to a Mr. James Reynolds, a bald, tanned man with a beard. He was unsmiling in his ID picture, but in his eyes there was something else. Alexander had looked at it so much he would have been able to recognize the man on the street.

James Reynolds had forty-five dollars in his wallet, and Alexander had pulled out the bills more than once and counted them. Forty-five dollars was more than he'd ever had in his life, but he refused to take it. He vowed to one day return this to Mr. Reynolds, even if he got beaten for it.

Alexander coughed and started heading home, which thankfully was only a few blocks away. He chastised himself for calling it home, as he was a kid who had nowhere to go. _Home_ was a word that shouldn't exist in his vocabulary, and it didn't have the right to.

He ignored the want that stirred inside him at that and pushed it down, focusing on the way home and avoiding eye contact as finally he got there and crawled through the hole and into his room. His bag was still there, thankfully, and he curled into a ball and fell asleep, shivering.

* * *

Lafayette broke down the door of an old loft building he'd had his eye on for a while, and waved away the dust it kicked up. A light entered his eyes Hercules didn't see often with other things. Laf was a total history nerd, but he loved exploring old things- and, unfortunately, he loved dragging his friends with him.

"Nerd," Hercules grunted, playfully shoving the French boy, but he too looked around at the dust-covered building. It really was nothing special- the walls were peeling white paint and the whole thing was only accented by the brown support beams.

"Look," Laf said, immediately taking off to the left side, where there was a giant, cracked window overlooking the city. He lifted his camera to it, snapping a picture, and turned to Hercules excitedly. "Is it not beautiful?"

Hercules made a show of looking at the peeling paint and dusty floor. "Uh, sure, Laf," he said. "Whatever you say."

Lafayette rolled his eyes and moved from the window into what Hercules would assume was a kitchen. He watched as his friend enthusiastically pulled open all the cabinets and took pictures of each.

"Why couldn't you bring John?" He asked, leaning on the wall.

"John is busy," the Frenchman remarked, clearly more interested in the floor, which he was now taking pictures of. Hercules couldn't actually see anything interesting about it. "He had a meeting today, _je pense. Je ne me souviens pas exactement."_

Hercules sighed. His friend had slipped into his native tongue effortlessly, which meant he wasn't actually concentrating on anything but the marvel of the old loft around them. He watched as Lafayette muttered to himself under his breath, saying things only he would understand.

Hercules got bored after ten minutes and went exploring the loft himself. He'd tried to tell Laf, but he'd been waved off in French. he found a hallway leading to a worse off part of the building, with several holes and cracks in the wall. Pieces of the roof were missing, and the cold December wind blew in with more strength here than it had in the kitchen. He wrapped his coat around himself tighter, and went into one room.

Inside he found a couple of antique-looking things he picked up and stored in a bag he' d brought specifically for this purpose. The objects were nearly covered in snow so he almost missed them, but when he picked them up, one was an old toy car, another was an old pipe. Something else caught his eye and it was a miniature version of the French flag. He picked it up and stored it into his pocket for Lafayette.

Another thing caught his attention, and it was in the corner, near a hole in the wall he hadn't noticed before. There were several sets of footprints going to and from the hole and into the next room. They were small, absurdly small, like a child's or just a very short person. They were almost all snowed in, and merely the outline was left. Curiously, Hercules followed them into the next room, where all he saw was a leather bag not unlike his own blocking the hole. Frowning, he went into the hallway and entered the room-

And there was a kid.

Just... sleeping there. As if it was completely normal. Hercules looked around the room and compared to the other one in roofing and walls, this one was almost entirely complete. He saw old wrappers of things, three old notebooks that looked like they had been used maybe a bit too well, and writing utensils were scattered throughout the room. A rock held down a dollar bill and next to it and scattered around it were various coins.

Finally, after seeing no immediate weapons around, Hercules looked at the kid himself. He used the bag for a pillow, and Hercules wondered what was inside. The kid looked blue from the cold, and Hercules suspected that the worn-looking hoodie didn't help with matters. He was curled into a tight ball, and he shivered even though he was asleep.

"Oh, kid," Hercules muttered, shrugging off his own expensive jacket and placing it gently on the sleeping, malnourished kid he'd stumbled upon and went to find Lafayette.

* * *

Hercules followed the distant sound of clicking and found Lafayette examining a crack in the floor.

"Hey," Hercules said urgently. "Laf."

 _"Le plancher est plus intéressant,"_ he mumbled in response.

Hercules sighed impatiently and plucked the camera from his friend's hands. He mustered his most imposing voice- he'd been told by Mr. Washington that he'd even sounded like him with that voice- and said to his friend, wildly scrambling for his camera-

 **"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette."**

Laf fell on his back, which was an appropriate feat since he had been on his knees, eyes wide.

"Okay, okay! I'm listening."

"Good," Hercules said. "You know I don't like doing that. I sound like your dad."

Lafayette started to nod in agreement but Hercules had already moved on.

"There's something upstairs," he said, helping up Laf. "And I don't know what exactly- I found- well..." He trailed off, leading into a hallway and into the second room, where Lafayette nearly dropped his camera.

"T-that's..."

Hercules nodded, his dark skin getting pale as blood drained from his face.

"I don't know what to do" Hercules said. "He looked like he was going to freeze, so I gave him my jacket."

It seemed as if the kid had noticed there was warm around him, and was now clinging to jacket like it would keep him safe.

 _"MERDE,"_ Lafayette said loudly, and Hercules could see immediately the moment the kid's eyes fluttered open and realized there were people standing at his doorway.

"Oh," Lafayette said when Hercules nudged him and he saw the kid.

"Yeah," Hercules said.

The kid had pushed himself into the corner, forfeiting the jacket and now shivering again.

"Hey," Hercules said gently, sitting on the floor and scooting closer to the kid. "Can I have that back if you're not gonna use it?"

The kid looked nervously at the jacket covering his feet and kicked it towards him, fear plain on his face.

"Thanks," Hercules said and he put it on. "Alright kid, I'm gonna tell you a thing."

He paled.

"My name is Hercules Mulligan, and my friend in the door is Lafayette," he said, pointing to himself and Laf in turn. "He's a history geek and he dragged me here, so if he hadn't we wouldn't even be here."

The kid opened his mouth but nothing came out.

"Can you talk at all, _mon ami?_ " Lafayette asked, concerned.

The kid's terrified look only increased in unspoken volume, and he frantically shook his head no, as if saying he really couldn't and to also convey that he couldn't simply because that's what... had been said to him? Hercules wasn't sure.

Lafayette nodded. "Hold on one minute, _petit._ I will return shortly."

He disappeared and left the kid alone with Hercules.

* * *

Alexander knew that he shouldn't have gotten so comfortable in here, in this secluded place. He should have known it wouldn't have lasted, he was so _stupid,_ his previous families had taught him nothing lasted except the stinging hits directed at him.

He wondered who Hercules was, and where his friend Lafayette had gone. Clearly he was French, hence his curse Alexander knew right away.

Alexander berated himself for trying to speak at all. He'd gone and opened his _fucking_ mouth and he'd tried to pass air onto his vocal chords, but he didn't remember how, and that fear that had been instilled was still there from long ago. He could hear the voice now- _Alexander, when will you learn?_

He could remember the way he felt- the way he still felt, actually- and how he'd crawled against the wall until he was cornered and couldn't go anywhere. He remembered he opened his mouth (he'd always done that, always always until he'd learned not to) and he'd try to tell his story, and he'd always be told-

 _"Alexander, what you think doesn't matter," he said, raising the belt. It flashed through the air and Alexander was expecting it, but it still stung. He tried not to cry out, he really really tried, but it escaped out of his mouth like his thoughts came out of his brain and went onto paper._

 _The man smiled menacingly above him, and Alexander dutifully noticed that the lighting from the kitchen made matters worse. "Dumb and dumber, aren't you, Alexander?"_

 _Alexander physically held his mouth shut with a hand pushing his chin up into his jaw._

 _"There we go," he said. "Good boy, aren't you, Alex?"_

 _He trembled under the man's gaze, but didn't remove his hand._

 _"Now," the man said, crouching down to Alexander's level. His frizzy hair was in disarray and his suit was gone, replaced by a simple white shirt and sweatpants. "I know that in here-" the man tapped Alex's skull and ignored the flinch it brought- "You think a lotta things, Allie. But one thing you're going to think until you can't get it out of your head..." He punched Alexander in the stomach, air whooshing out of him, but then he couldn't get more in._

 _The man's hand had slid up his throat and pinned him to the wall. Alexander let go of his mouth and tried to pull at the hand, but it was no use. Air couldn't get into his lungs and he was desperate for it._

 _"Is that what you have to say doesn't matter."_

 _Spots appeared in his vision._

 _"Remember this feeling, Alexander," he said, leaning in close. "Remember this next time you try to talk. It'll stop you."_

It hadn't stopped him until he'd passed out more than once from lack of air. The incident had happened several times after that, with the man in his mind saying the same thing each time. _What you have to say doesn't matter. No one cares, Alexander, so just shut your mouth._

He'd cried himself to sleep many many times after that, the same words echoing in his head until he believed them with all of who he was. He wasn't heard anymore, and over the years he forgot how to talk at all. As a backup, when he was still going to school, he'd borrowed sign language books and taught himself.

"Hey? Hey, kid," a voice said from next to him, and Alexander was jerked out of his thoughts by Hercules Mulligan, who had gotten closer and was visibly panicked. His expression softened when he saw Alexander look at him, however, and he smiled a little bit, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Hey," he said. "You kind of freaked me out there. What happened?"

He said nothing.

"Oh," Hercules Mulligan said after a moment. "I forgot. You just don't seem to be the silent type, is all."

 _If only you knew, Mr. Hercules Mulligan,_ Alexander thought.

"Hercules?" A voice called to them. Alexander tensed, but it turned out to be only Lafayette entering the room. "Good, you have not left. I have called Papa, and he is on his way."

Lafayette crouched down to Alexander, reaching out a hand to help him up. "Will you come with me, _mon ami?_ We will help you, I promise. There is no need to be afraid."

Alexander eyed his hand wearily, but Lafayette didn't move it from its spot. He was radiating warmth, however, and the tanned skin color made him wonder if he even felt the cold.

Hesitantly, Alexander took Lafayette's hand and he suddenly found himself pulled up.

"Do you need your bag?" Hercules asked, offering it to him. Alexander took it and Lafayette guided him out to the door, where a car was parked outside.

Alexander froze, memories of his past bombarding him.

" _Mon ami?_ Are you well? We can stop if you would like."

Alexander shook himself free of thoughts and continued towards the car.

 _Trust no one,_ his mind said. Alexander could only hope it wasn't Thomas in that car.


	3. In Which Alexander Doesn't Realize

**I really fkin love TJeff as a character and as a person in general. If he was alive then I'd marry him. Like 100% I'd marry TJeff. He's super cool but I needed a villain that wasn't KG3 or Samuel Seabury, you know?**

 **Also, I wasn't satisfied (AngelicaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA) with the last chapter because I'd shaved off a bunch of stuff from it because I didn't like where it was going, but then I didn't save and I wasn't about to do it all over again soooooo... Yeah.**

 **~school starts again tomorrow and look at me I'm here doing this instead of homework~**

 **Also, sign language is now used in the story, and I don't know any besides thank you, so I won't be using specific hand motions. Along with that, Google translate French is being used until I am fluent in it, so French speakers, I apologize.  
**

* * *

In Which Alexander Doesn't Realize That He Is The Hope And Lafayette Tries To Name Him

* * *

"I guess it is a good thing, Papa, that I went today instead of to your meeting, no?" Lafayette asked his father snarkily. George, in turn, glared at Lafayette in mock anger. Lafayette giggled. He leaned on Hercules, propping his feet up on the seat and pulled out his phone. Hercules sighed, an annoyed look on his face, but his lack of protesting showed Alexander that he did it more often than not.

"So," George said, looking from the rearview mirror at Alex. "What's your name?"

Alexander felt helpless. He doubted these people understood sign language, and none of them had any paper to write on. He stared blankly back at Mr. Washington, then stared at the floor.

George looked questioningly at Lafayette, then Hercules because the French teen hadn't looked up from his phone.

"He can't talk," Hercules explained. George nodded.

"Then I suppose we will have to name you!" Lafayette said excitedly, sitting up straight and nearly shoving Hercules through the window. "I am so good at naming things, do not worry, _mon ami._ "

Alex looked uncertainly at Lafayette. He _liked_ his name, thank you very much. His mother had chosen this name.

"Do not worry," Lafayette said seriously, reaching out a hand to pat his friend's shoulder. He pulled away when Alex flinched. "As long as we do not let Papa name things, we are... how you say-" he looked over at Hercules for confirmation- "We are 'good'."

"Hey," George said from the front. "I'm not _that_ bad at naming things, Laf."

Lafayette gave him a Look.

"Vulcan, Papa? Sweet Lips?"

George opened his mouth to reply, but closed it with an audible click. "Fine. I won't say anything regarding his name, okay?"

" _Bien,"_ Lafayette said, but was interrupted by George muttering, "At least I didn't have the audacity to name you Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier de Lafayette."

"Hey!" Lafayette said, and Alexander silently giggled from where he sat. "I am a Marquis! I am royalty!" He _hmphed_ at George in the way Alexander thought this was probably a long-running thing between the two. He could see Lafayette trying to keep the scowl on his face and George was trying not to smile.

Now," he said, turning to Alexander, "You are a boy, are you not?"

Alexander nodded, half a smile still on his face. That shouldn't have to be a question.

"As I thought. Now, what to call you?" It ended in a question that Alexander desperately didn't want to know the answer to. He had a name, and it was one of the few things he had left that was _his_. And now these people walk into his life and try to take it away from him? Thomas had tried to do that, and more than once. He tried to ignore the feeling of anxiety that rose in his chest.

Lafayette studied him carefully. Everyone was silent for another few minutes, and Alexander contented himself with looking out the window at the scenery that sped by, houses and busy streets slowly turning to fields and cows.

"How about Aaron?" Lafayette asked him. Alexander scrunched his nose in disgust.

"Okay, not that, then. Back to, how you say, the drawing board."

* * *

It had been a long drive from the old abandoned loft to what Alexander had assumed was the Washington estate, and Lafayette had not yet found a name Alexander liked. He doubted it would happen.

George pulled up to the gates- _gates keep you in, trapped here, trapped-_ and was still chuckling at the last name Lafayette had tried, which was Jeff. It seemed so boring, and Alexander hadn't liked it at all. He drove a short way up a driveway, and suddenly they were in front of the biggest house Alex had ever seen in his life. It was painted a soft brown and was tiled with a darker shade; inside there seemed to be lights that glowed warmly. The lawn was neatly manicured and flowers grew in clusters.

"We are home!" Lafayette said excitedly. "Is _Maman_ home?"

"She should be," George said, parking the car. "She knows about-" he looked at Alexander- "Uh, well, the newest addition?" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry," he said to Alexander.

"If we cannot find a name, I shall call him _petite lion_ for a while, until we do," Lafayette said, smiling warmly at Alexander. "And yes, Maman does know about him."

Alex nodded and followed them inside, immediately taken in awe. It was decorated neatly, and the warmth he'd seen from the outside was definitely present on the inside. To the right was a tv and four couches with a coffee table in the center. A little ways up the hallway there was the kitchen, a wonderful smell coming from it. There was a spiral staircase leading to the upstairs, but it was very lively. A hallway led off to somewhere he couldn't immediately see. Lafayette, George and Hercules led him into the kitchen after asking him to take his shoes off. Alexander did, revealing bruised and red feet. George looked at them but said nothing.

"Maman! We are home! And so is Hercules!" Lafayette shouted, going into the kitchen.

"Oh, good! Hercules, come in, come in," a voice responded. It was feminine and sweet. "And did you bring...?" A lady popped her head out of the doorway, and her grin brightened as soon as she saw Alex.

"You must be the one Laf was telling me about! Oh, look at you, you must be so hungry!" She embraced him, and Alexander stiffened, but it didn't last long. "Come, come, I've made sheperd's pie for dinner. It's Herc's favorite, you know. Oh, and John is coming over later."

"Thanks, Mrs. W," Hercules said.

Alexander entered the kitchen, and the first thing he saw on the granite-marble countertop was a piece of paper and a pen. He walked over to it, slowly, and wondered if he could use it or not.

"Sit, sit," Lafayette said, taking a seat next to him. "We still must find a name for you, _mon petite lion._ "

"You don't have a name?" the one Hercules had referred to as Mrs. W said. "Well, Laf is good at coming up with names. He's got ten, you know." She set a plate down right in front of him, full of food. He looked at it in wonder. Thomas had never given him this much to eat. Never.

Except he wasn't thinking about Thomas.

He waited for the others to get their food and dug in, eating it all in a span of five minutes. Mrs. W laughed when he saw his empty plate. "You really were hungry."

He nodded but refused more when she asked. _Don't burden them._

When his plate was cleared, he began eyeing the paper again, then stealthily took it when nobody was watching. He wrote something down and sheepishly gave it to Lafayette.

" _Petite lion!_ " He exclaimed. "You do have a name!"

Alexander nodded.

"Well, what is it?" Lafayette slid the paper back to him and he picked up the pen.

 _My name is Alexander Hamilton._

Lafayette smiled. "Alexander Hamilton is a nice name," he said. "I am sorry for trying to name you earlier, _petite lion._ "

Alexander smiled reassuringly and wrote _it's okay, you didn't know and I couldn't really tell you_ on the paper.

"This is true," Lafayette said.

George interrupted their conversation. "Do you know any other way to talk without writing it on a piece of paper, Alex?"

 _I know sign language, but I didn't know if you did so I didn't use it,_ he wrote. Lafayette showed George.

"Hercules knows sign," he said. The one in question looked up at his name, fork halfway to his mouth loaded with pie.

"Whaf?" he said, his mouth obviously full.

George chuckled and Lafayette full out laughed. "I was telling Alex that you know sign language."

"Oh," Hercules said, swallowing. "Yeah, I do."

Alexander smiled. _I taught myself a long time ago._

 _I see,_ Hercules signed back. _I took a class at school._

 _I had to teach myself,_ Alexander signed back, frowning at the memories. _I... it's a long story._

Hercules nodded and was about to reply when George cleared his throat. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

Alexander made a fist and rubbed it on his chest, looking down.

"He says he's sorry too," Hercules translated.

"It's alright," George said. "I suppose we'll have to learn the lingo, won't we?"

Lafayette and Mrs. W nodded in affirmation, smiling at Alex.

 _This is the best place ever,_ he thought. He smiled back at them.

"I will take you to your room, if you would like, Alexander," Lafayette said. "I will let you pick, as we have many unused rooms." He dragged Alexander out of the kitchen, Hercules following along closely.

"Although John does stay over a lot, so he sort of has a room, but he does not live here permanently." Lafayette showed him up the stairs. "This is my room," he said, pointing at a door painted red, white, and blue in the respective French flag. "Over there is Maman and Papa's room, and next to it is Papa's office. Over here is the book room, and over there is the study, and there are the extra rooms."

"Slow down, Laf," Hercules said. "He doesn't know what to do with himself."

Alexander had to admit he did feel a little overwhelmed.

 _The book room?_ he signed to Hercules, who chuckled.

 _The library,_ he said back. _Laf's French being doesn't remember the word sometimes._

Alexander laughed, but nobody was put off by the silence. Lafayette wanted in.

"What?"

"You forgot the word 'library' again," Hercules said. Alexander was still laughing. Lafayette's ears turned red.

 _"Je peux parler couramment le français si vous le souhaitez!"_

Hercules just laughed some more. Alexander looked at Lafayette, smirking.

 _"Grossier,"_ Lafayette said. "Anyway, you would like to pick out your room now?" Alexander nodded and chose the first door he saw.

"Next to my room! Good choice, _mon ami._ " He opened the door and Alex stepped into his new room. The carpet was white, with the walls a forest green. There was a closet and a desk, with a simple bed with green blankets.

"Do you like it? If not, we can choose another room," Lafayette said. Alex shook his head and signed something.

 _It's perfect._

* * *

 **It's only a couple of words under my usual word count goal I make myself achieve, so no worries. I thought this was a good place to end with Al being happy and everyone being in a good climate of where the story is. But don't get used to happy endings, okay? I've got something planned, something big. TJeff (my wonderful child) isn't completely out of the picture yet.  
**

 **On another note, don't get used to the updating schedule. Literally it will not last. School is starting again and I don't think I'll have enough spare time to update as frequently.**

 **Review!**


	4. Same Kind of Different As Me

**I would like to state that this is not a Lams fic. I personally don't ship it but whoever does, good for you.**

 **I'm considering making this a Laf/Alex fic though. I'm not sure yet.**

* * *

"Congratulations, Alexander!" Lafayette said, bouncing into the room and waving his arms excitedly. "You have moved in!"

Alexander half-smiled and scratched his neck awkwardly.

"Come, come, _mon ami!"_ Lafayette said, dragging Alexander into the room. "You must unpack!"

Alexander gave a strange look to his friend and held up his lone bag containing his whole life and two notebooks.

"Ah, yes," Lafayette said, seemingly more deflated now. He brightened suddenly. "That just means we will have to buy you more things!" He took Alex's bag and placed it on the floor, beginning to imagine what sort if things this silent boy might need.

Alex's eyes widened and he began to frantically make signs with his hands that even Hercules couldn't understand.

"Hey, bro, it's okay," Hercules tried to calm him down. "We're not going to do anything you don't want to do, okay?"

The strong yet gentle giant had grasped Alexander's shaking hands by the wrists in his own, holding them in a comforting way. Alexander looked at him and nodded twice, seeming to need assurance. Hercules let go.

Lafayette, having watched the interaction, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a screech came from downstairs calling both him and Hercules. The two boys shared a look and were off.

Alexander watched them go. After he closed the door, he reached uncertainly towards it and twisted the lock into place. It clicked satisfactorily.

He sighed and sat on the bed. It was fluffy and kinda bouncy, as he found after a moment. After a few minutes of bouncing on the bed and silent giggling, he calmed down and took out his notebooks- all, sadly, entirely filled. He wondered if there were any more in the house he could maybe pilfer and...

No! He was not here to steal! These people were already being so nice to him and he wouldn't screw up now. He only hoped Thomas wasn't about to figure out where he was. Exhausted, Alexander flopped down on the bed and fell asleep.

* * *

 **Like 15 minutes earlier**

It was _cold._ Seriously. Like it was fucking _freezing._

 _Great job, Laurens, you left your goddamn house without any sort of covering_.

John Laurens shivered in his plain t-shirt and rubbed his arms, trying to keep any sort of body heat before the fingers of the unforgiving wind took the flame of the last coal in his hearth. The snow, unaware of his troubles, floated down beside him angrily, pounding the earth and piling up.

And here he was, in a brown shirt and slowly turning blue. There wasn't another soul in sight. Of course, there wasn't- who the fuck is stupid enough to walk out around in a blizzard?

Well, John thought to himself, limping along at a slower pace than he would have liked and leaving a trail of red in the snow, he wasn't stupid.

Okay, so his father said he was. What did his dad know? He worked at a failing auto repair shop. He had opinions, sure, and he'd been divorced when John was three, but he didn't know shit about his own son.

John's leg suddenly decided that it had had enough of the rough treatment and gave out underneath him. He toppled over in a flurry of snow, landing deep in a dirty snowbank. He sighed in frustration.

"Can we not? I'm literally half a block from the house," he said to his leg. It twitched in response.

"There's fucking snow everywhere," he yelled again.

His leg didn't do anything this time.

A phrase came to mind and John almost opened his mouth to tell his leg, but his leg didn't need to hear it again. After all, the injuries and the saying had come from the same person.

 _You useless sack of shit!_

But John wasn't thinking about that. He lay back in the snow and felt his head hit something hard. Blackness clouded at the edges of his vision.

"Fuck," he said. He _had_ to get to the Washington's. Now.

He got up from the snowbank and tried to remember how to army crawl properly, but then guessed there really wasn't a proper way. He began crawling, his leg dragging along behind him, devoid of all feeling.

Three houses left... Two... one... finally! He crawled up the steps and banged on the door frantically. His fingers ached; they were blue up into his arms.

The last thought in his mind, right before the door opened, before an inhuman screech parted the lips of Martha Washington, before the blackness took over...

Laf was going to be pissed that John had ruined his shirt.

* * *

 _Alex had never had a room of his own. In the house he and his mother shared on Nevis, it had been one room in their little one-floor house. Not that he had minded. He loved curling up next to his mother in the corner after a long day of writing and looking for things to eat, resting in her arms as she sang to him and they both fell asleep in order to be rested to do the same the next day. But then his mother had gotten sick, and she'd fallen asleep and never woken._

 _Here in America, Alexander hoped that was different. Maybe he'd get his own room with Thomas! Maybe he could have a desk to write on. And he had! He'd gotten a big bed and a desk and windows in his room, but things quickly turned sour. He learned to hate that bed. He learned to steal blankets from elsewhere in the house and sleep on the floor. He got praise from Thomas about always having his bed made, but then Thomas would come in at night and discover he wasn't sleeping in it. And then things got really bad. What had started off as gentle frolics in the night for Thomas's pleasure turned into full-on torture._

 _Thomas always had managed to bewitch Alex's mind and ensnare his senses in a deadly grasp. Alex didn't know how exactly, just that he did and Alex couldn't do a single thing about it. Maybe it was the woody-apple scent of Thomas that made him fall. Maybe it was the looks Thomas gave him, or Alex's own passionate need to be fucked on the sheets of his bed a couple times a week. But Alex didn't like it. He didn't like it, but he could never say anything because he always consented to the act at night, Thomas covering Alex's mouth with his own, muffling the cries of pain mixed wonderfully with pleasure. But he could never figure it out. How did Thomas always do it?_

* * *

Alex sat up with a muffled noise that may have been a scream. He couldn't feel his feet, he couldn't _move_ he had to leave right now right now leave get out get _out for god's sake-_

There was a thump as he fell off the strange bed. He landed unceremoniously in a pile of limbs and blankets.

Quickly he scrambled away from the bed and the blankets, now free from their embrace. Turned out he'd just gotten tangled in the bedsheets and started panicking for no reason.

He wondered if he'd made any noise. Judging by the silence outside his door, either someone was hiding on the other side, lying in wait to catch him in the act of having nightmares about his previous foster home, or they were still all downstairs, judging from the hubbub and the occasional scream from Lafayette.

Okay, yeah, they were all downstairs. Alexander wondered what was going on. He cautiously unlocked the door and padded down the carpeted stairs to see the whole Washington family gathered around the couches and Hercules standing off to the side awkwardly.

Lafayette was talking rapidly in French to everyone around, but nobody paid attention. Alexander tried to listen to his garbled words to gain some information about what was going on, but he didn't get the chance to as whoever it was on the couch woke up. Everyone quieted the moment his eyes opened.

Alex felt something in his chest pull when he looked into the blue-green eyes of the boy. They were eyes that looked just like his- full of fear just for a moment before swiftly changing to cover it up with a cool front, defensive but not immediately seen. Alex had stared into those eyes plenty of times when he had seen himself in a mirror, forcing himself to keep down the feelings and the fear and to stop thinking about it before he vomited and got in trouble now.

The boy on the couch lifted his head and locked eyes with him as Alex continued to look at him, thinking.

 _I know,_ Alex said in his mind, hoping his expression said more than words could.

"Who's he?" the kid asked, lying back down on the couch.

Martha fussed over him while the rest of the room's occupants stood to one side. "That's Alexander," she said. "Lafayette and Hercules found him sleeping on the streets."

The kid didn't look back at Alexander but simply made a 'huh' noise as Martha put socks on him.

Alexander walked over to Hercules and signed, _who's the kid?_

 _That's John,_ Hercules replied, fingerspelling the name slowly so Alexander could see. _He's the same kind of different as you, in a way._

Alexander nodded, knowing that later on, he'd get a better explanation. For now, he sat with the Washingtons and Hercules as John drifted in and out of consciousness. Alexander thought to himself about Hercules' comment.

 _Same kind of different as me._

He wondered if John felt the same way he did when he was with these people.

Drifting in and out.

* * *

John was totally awake, he just didn't want to be. Everything hurt. Martha was being... well, she was being Martha, but that's nothing new. George was trying to calm a panicking Lafayette, he could hear. Hercules was probably standing off to the side like he usually did in awkward situations.

But then John heard the new set of footsteps coming down the stairs, softly. Too softly. The feet were _trying_ to be quiet. Why? Everyone in this house was exceptionally loud (especially Laf). They were hesitant. Unsure.

They were his feet. His feet when he ran from his father in a drunken rage and need, having to escape. Escape from the endless hurt and bruises and broken things and-

John opened his eyes. He lifted his head to see a blurry outline of another boy, who didn't look older than fifteen, but he looked younger than Hercules or Lafayette. He was staring at John... trying to say something.

He locked eyes with the boy, seeing something familiar in his eyes. John wanted to cry, and he didn't know why. Quickly, he cut off the look and casually as he could, he asked, "Who's he?"

"That's Alexander," Martha said, wrapping his arm in a bandage. "Lafayette and Hercules found him sleeping on the streets."

"Hmm," John said, laying back down and closing his eyes. Alexander. Who was he? Was he like John in himself? Was he the opposite? From just one look he'd felt whatever connection that may have been. Alexander had looked shallow, defensive, untrusting, but soft when he looked at John.

John wondered what his story was as he fell back asleep.

* * *

 **Okay, yes, it's shorter than usual, but I decided that this was a good place to stop because anything after this I put in would make it too long.**

 **Next chapter: John and Alex officially meet each other by being awkwardly stuck in a room with no escape.**


	5. Look At This Tell Me, What Have I Done?

It had been a couple days since John had come. Alexander avoided him for the most part, despite living next door to him upstairs. He was now sandwiched between Lafayette and John, and the feeling of being watched by both of them created an uneasy feeling for Alexander. He knew Lafayette was only looking out for him, but John was wary of him. Anytime they did make contact, John always went to the other side of the room or hallway away from Alexander, and Alexander, in turn, did the same, going to the opposite side. He always held himself in a defensive stance, looking at Alex until they both passed each other or were a safe distance away. They never spoke, either. Alexander didn't even know if John knew he couldn't speak.

Whenever Laf or Hercules demanded they be in a near vicinity of each other, Alexander always made sure there was someone standing in between them. Neither spoke if the other was around, even in a group. After a week Lafayette got fed up with it, dragging Alex and John to the side, away from a particularly wonderful trifle from Martha. Alex turned around and would have jumped away had Lafayette not been holding onto him and John by their shirts.

"What is this?" John asked, immediately trying to veer away from Alex.

"This! Exactly what you are doing," Lafayette said, shaking both of them. "You are avoiding each other. Why? You are supposed to be friends! _Copains!_ What is this?"

"Nothing," John said, yanking himself away. "We're fine. We-" he looked at Alex uncertainly. "We're fine."

Alex nodded along with John's statement, trembling in Lafayette's grip, uncomfortable with touch after having been alone for so long. Thankfully the Frenchman let go, and Alex stepped back, looking at the other two boys.

"Why have you avoided each other, then?" Lafayette asked, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.

"We haven't," John protested, taking a step back, wary even of Lafayette. Alexander watched closely, watching for signs he hope wouldn't come.

"You have," Lafayette said, agitated. "Why?"

"I don't know," John said. "We just don't get along, I guess."

"No," Lafayette said, pointing a finger at the two boys, who were slowly realizing that this was an angry Lafayette which was turning into a bad idea very quickly. "It is because both of you are too- how you say?- insecure of new people. It took _Alexandre_ a long time to get used to anyone and now you have arrived. You both need to reconcile! Do not avoid each other!"

Alex stepped in front of John, signing fast with his hands even though he knew Lafayette didn't understand.

 _It doesn't work like that, Lafayette. We can't just-_

"Do not wave your hands at me! You know I do not understand, it is only Hercules. Why do you not talk, _Alexandre_?"

It was clear that Lafayette was angry about something, but it couldn't have been just the two avoiding each other. Something else was wrong, but now evidently was not the time to figure out what.

Alex looked hurt and lifted his hands again, trying to tell Lafayette something he could see, something that he would be able to understand if he just looked.

Lafayette took a step towards Alexander, grabbing his frantically fingerspelling hands in his own, and looked him straight in the eye.

"No more," he said, his voice dangerously low and accented very nearly unable to understand. _"_ S _ilent hands."_

Alexander's shocked gasp was more than audible, but he shut his mouth with a click before he could make any more noise. This only served to make Lafayette angrier, letting go of Alex's hands and shaking his shoulders, shouting incomprehensible words in French at Alexander.

 _"Pourquoi ne parlez-vous pas? Ce n'est pas si difficile! Il ne vous fera aucun plaisir de continuer comme ça! Vous n'allez pas dans votre vie comme ça!"_

It was at this point that John stepped in, pushing Lafayette away from Alexander physically.

"Stop it," he said.

"He does not know," Lafayette said, and the anger was blazing in his normally friendly eyes. "He will not continue his life correctly if he continues this way! Make him speak!" He turned back to Alexander, who had abandoned all emotion and was now staring at his foster brother with eyes cold as stone.

 _"Parler!"_

"Stop it, it's not his fault!" John screamed at his friend, shoving Alexander behind him in a desperate attempt to protect him.

"Move," Lafayette commanded, breathing heavily. "Move, or something will happen that you do not want to happen."

"I've faced a lot worse than you," John said, keeping Alexander behind him despite the silent boy's best efforts to try and protect John.

Lafayette stared at him for a heartbeat, then reared back his fist and punched John in the face. John, surprisingly, recovered from the blow quickly and punched him back. Lafayette landed against the wall, bleeding from his nose.

 _"Boys!_ " The angry voice of George Washington interrupted them. "What is going on?"

Lafayette paid no attention and tackled John to the ground, then kneed him in the nuts. John howled in pain while Lafayette got up and stalked over to Alex.

Alex stood his ground, baring his teeth as a warning to stay away, but Lafayette only shoved him back, demanding that he speak. Alex once again tried to use his hands, but they were slapped out of the way.

 _"Peut-être que cela vous permettra de parler!"_ Lafayette punched him and took the opportunity while the boy was dazed and shoved Alex to the ground. He wrapped his hands around Alex's neck, pinning the boy's hands down with his knees. Alex's eyes lit up with a fury unlike Lafayette's and rolled over onto the other boy, who shoved Alex off of him and tried to tackle him. Alex tried to take the weight, and nearly fell over until John pulled Lafayette off of Alex.

"What are you doing?" He asked, but before either boy could do anything, George came over and pulled Lafayette away, who clawed at the air, trying to get back to the fight.

"What is the _matter with you?"_ George lifted the Frenchman up, who curled into himself much like a kitten would when picked up by the scruff of the neck. "Go to your room."

"But-"

"Go. To. Your. Room."

Laf snarled but slunk away when George put him down. The man watched him go and hurried over to Alex and John.

"Are you okay?" John asked Alex, offering a hand to help him up. Alex stared uncertainly at it for a second and then took it. John pulled him up, noticing immediately the bruise that was starting to form on his eye.

"You might want an ice pack for that," John said, casually motioning to the injury. Alex waved him off, but a smile was on his face.

"What happened between you all?" George asked, offering John a tissue to wipe the blood off his knuckles.

"I dunno. Laf pulled us both over here and demanded that we both stop avoiding each other... I wouldn't have called it avoiding each other, per se, but you know how he gets." John shifted unconsciously to Alex. "Then he started saying it was because Alexander couldn't talk, but I didn't even know that."

Alexander lifted his hands but stopped, looking at them. He lowered them after a minute, then John explained.

"He kinda went batshit crazy on Alex. Told him to stop signing and speak instead. Tried this whole 'silent hands' thing which was very offending even to me. I don't think Alex wanted to fight him, even."

Alex nodded, keeping his hands firmly behind his back.

George sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "And Lafayette didn't say why he was so upset?"

"No," John said. "But I don't think this is what sparked his anger. Us avoiding each other, I mean. He wouldn't have done this normally."

Alexander cocked a doubtful eyebrow at John.

"You don't know him like I do," John explained. "I really don't think he would have done this normally. He's usually a really gentle guy."

Alexander looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.

"I'm going to go talk to him," George said. "I'll see what got into him. You boys go see Martha, get some bandages and ice."

The boys nodded and George took off to Lafayette.

"What were you going to say?" John asked Alex as soon as they were alone. Alex feigned confusion and shrugged.

"Come on, man. Just cause Laf told you silent hands doesn't mean you actually have to."

Alex only looked at John.

"Well, I guess it's your choice," John said, "But if it would make you feel better, man..." John lifted his own hands and signed, _I can do it too._

At Alex's surprised look, John laughed. Alex's hands moved, ready to sign, and they twitched with the effort of trying not to.

 _It's fine, he's not around,_ John signed. _And I'm doing it too, so he won't be able to take on two of us at once another time._

 _How do you know sign language?_ Alex finally gave in, moving his hands, desperate to communicate. He felt a sliver of his anxiety slip away.

 _My sister lost her hearing when she was little because of a sickness, so we all had to learn to talk like this,_ John said. _And she moved out a couple years ago, but I still remember how._

Alexander nodded in understanding. _I'm sorry your sister got sick._

 _It's alright,_ John said. _At least she's still around._

The two headed to Martha, who fretted over them until they were as good as they could have been for the time. Hercules came over and promised to keep them away from Lafayette until further notice, and they all watched a movie until it was time for dinner, finishing early and deciding to head to the kitchen.

John had never asked why Alexander couldn't speak, but at least they got over the 'silent hands' thing.

* * *

Lafayette stormed upstairs, slamming his door when he got to his room. It didn't give him satisfaction. He paced angrily, ignoring the burning in his hands until it got a little too much and went to the bathroom to wash out the cuts on his hands.

 _"Maintenant, je suis blessé... Vois-tu ce qu'ils m'ont fait! Je ne peux pas le croire..."_ He rambled on in French, watching the water run red until it was clear from his fingers. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing red staining his sky-blue shirt and growled at himself, heading to his closet to change. He opened the doors and shuffled through shirts, trying to choose. Eventually, he decided on a yellow one and put his hair back into a ponytail, all the while grumbling about the fight.

He made to close the closet doors but stopped when his fingers dusted on the surface of a black-and-white photograph. He lingered on it, wondering for a moment what it could be. He turned the cabinet facing him and looked at it.

It was a picture of him, John, and Hercules, laughing together. He was the one taking the photo of a laughing John, who was holding himself with laughter, and Hercules who was laughing at John. Lafayette's curls could be seen blocking out the lockers of the high school, and his smiling face was in the bottom left corner, not even looking into the camera but at his best friends.

Above that picture, Lafayette saw one he'd snuck of Alex during dinner. He was smiling, his long hair covering his face just a bit. His hands were curled into loose fists, protecting his injured hands.

Lafayette smiled, taking a moment to remember his wonderful friends.

His friends that he had physically attacked.

He had told Alexander to speak even though he was physically incapable. _Silent hands,_ he remembered. He gasped and backed away.

John's cry of pain when he'd been tackled to the ground. Alexander desperately trying to sign to Lafayette something he could have maybe understood if he'd bothered to look. Papa George coming and pulling him off of his two friends and sending him to his room.

 _"Merde,"_ Lafayette said softly, looking at the pictures. "No... What have I done?"

He raced to the door, opening it with frightening speed and racing downstairs where he heard John laughing at something Hercules had said. He bounced down the stairs and was about to enter the kitchen when Papa George appeared, looking angry.

"I thought I told you to stay in your room," he said, blocking the young French teen from going any further.

"But Papa, I must sorry to them!"

"I don't think you're the person they want to see right now," George said, pushing Lafayette back up the stairs.

"Please, I must see them. I must sorry to them! Papa, please!"

George eyed him warily. "Why did you fight with them in the first place?"

"I-" Lafayette stopped in his tracks. He didn't even remember the whole thing, only that he pulled John and Alex to the side to ask them why they weren't getting along. He didn't remember fighting either of them with any intent. He relayed this to George, who looked as if he didn't believe Lafayette in any way.

"I know you do not believe me, Papa, but I must speak to them!"

"That's not a good idea right now," George said, trying to usher him to his room.

"Please! You can be there, and they have Hercules to protect them. I only would like to sorry for them, Papa! Please!"

"Will you go to your room straight after? We need to talk about this, Lafayette."

"Yes, I will, Papa," Lafayette promised. "I only need to sorry to them. And then I will come straight back up here and await my punish. Please, Papa?"

George sighed, but went back downstairs. "Make it short, and don't try anything."

"Thank you!" Lafayette bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the playful signing between John, Alex, and Hercules suddenly stopped as he screeched to a halt in the doorway.

Nobody said a word for about two minutes.

 _"Alexandre,"_ Lafayette tried, stepping towards him. All three leaped out of their seats, Alex to avoid him, John in front of Alex, and Hercules in front of John, protecting both of them.

"Don't," Hercules said. "Not right now."

Alex poked his head around his two friends protecting him and looked down at his hands as if he was uncertain if he should sign to Lafayette. He chose against it, looking away. John was horribly defensive, glaring at Lafayette as he tried to fish for words to apologize. Hercules shuffled him out before anything happened, and Papa George gave him a look as he went back upstairs that said _I told you so_.

Lafayette felt his heart crumble into a thousand pieces. What had he done?

* * *

 **So I scrapped my idea for a Laf/Alex thing. I don't think any pairings will be in order for this story.**

 **I had so much fun writing this! I really hope you all like it. I tried to make it good. I'm proud of it, and I hope you enjoy! I wrote this in about three days total. Summer's around so maybe I'll work on getting chapters out faster. Who knows? Certainly not me.**


	6. I've Done The Unspeakable

Alexander hadn't seen Lafayette in two days. He heard Martha speaking to George about the teen who now refused to come out of his room, and some part of Alex _did_ feel bad, but moreover he felt betrayed.

Lafayette had been his first friend, the first person to be nice to him and to respect his boundaries. And then this? Honestly, Alexander berated himself for even thinking that Lafayette was nice enough not to hurt him. And if Lafayette was there to hurt him, what about the others? George? Martha? Hercules, even John? Alex's breathing got faster as he drove himself into worry.

 _What if they all turn up to be like Lafayette? What if I have to move again? What if George or Martha gets tired of me and what if they hurt me? What if John tells me silent hands? What if-_

"Yo, 'Lex?"

 _John._

The knock came again as Alexander realized it was John at the door, something that was grounding and helped him breathe easier. He got up off the floor - when had he gotten there?- and opened the door a bit, to see a grinning John peeking in.

"Hey," he said out loud as opposed to signing, "We were about to watch a movie. Wanna come out of there and watch it with us?"

Alex opened the door wider and looked for Lafayette warily before grabbing a blanket and following John down the stairs. He found the beginning credits of Beauty and the Beast rolling on the screen as he settled into the couch that the other two weren't occupying.

"I hate this movie," Hercules grumbled as John sat next to him.

"Then why are you watching it?" John laughed.

"Because I wanted to," he replied, crossing his arms and sliding further into the couch. Alexander laughed silently with John as Hercules sang along to _Belle,_ the first song in the movie.

"Don't like this movie, huh?" John teased, and Hercules playfully slapped him.

As the movie went on, Alexander didn't particularly pay attention, instead choosing to think about Lafayette. It had been two days, and maybe John was right, and he was just acting irrational or something. Lafayette was kind and bouncy and full of energy, not wrathful... So why had he done it? And now why had he locked himself in his room?

Like a zombie, Alexander swung his feet to the floor and stood up. He didn't even realize he had until Hercules asked him why he was getting up. Alex opened his mouth, then shut it, and signed, _I'm gonna go upstairs._

"Okay," the other two said in unison, and Alex wrapped his blanket loosely around himself. His gaze was distant as he stepped up the stairs and he woke up as he found himself in front of Lafayette's room with his fist raised to knock on the door.

For the first time in a long time, time slowed down and Alex's brain caught up with what he was doing. Fear raced through him and he let out a small, strangled cry and gasped as he clapped a hand over his mouth.

He hadn't talked in _ages_. But he just had, and _dear god he was in trouble._ He felt his legs buckle under him as he was violently brought back to Thomas, his mind protesting but going into the flashback anyway.

 _Thomas loomed over him. Alex heard the clink of the belt buckle, but didn't see it. The blindfold around his eyes prevented him from seeing anything._

 _"Please," Alex sobbed, "Please, sir."_

 _"I thought I told you to **shut up!** " Alex heard the woosh of the belt before he felt it hit him. A cry escaped his lips. _

_"What is it going to take?!" Thomas screamed, hitting Alex again. The handcuffs tying Alex to the wall bit into the boy's hands, making them bleed._

 _"If you stop talking," Thomas said, swinging the belt one more time, "Then I will stop hitting you."_

 _Alex didn't reply. The belt swished down again, and he bit his tongue so hard that he tasted copper._

 _"Allie," Thomas crooned, and Alex felt him rest the belt over his legs and bend down. "Would you like me to take off this blindfold?"_

 _Alex opened his mouth but remembered at the last second and nodded instead._

 _"There's a good boy," Thomas said, hooking a finger around the blindfold and tugging it down to cover Alex's mouth. "And good boys get rewards, don't they?"_

 _A muffled sound came from behind the cloth and Thomas lit up in rage. Angrily the belt smacked him over and over again until Alex lay on the floor with a broken wrist because of the cuffs and bleeding profusely._

 _"Don't talk," Thomas said, puffing angrily. "Don't say a word."_

 _Alex opened his eyes, but closed them soon after. He just wanted to die._

 _Suddenly, his eyes flew open at the intruding sensation at his back entrance- not today! He couldn't handle it now! He screamed again as Thomas grabbed him roughly._

 _"Oh, Allie," he moaned. "Allie."_

 _"Alex..."_

"Alex! Alexander!" Thomas shook him.

No, not Thomas. Someone else? Alexander looked up, blinking away the tears and the blurriness. _Lafayette?_

"Alex," Lafayette said, grabbing his arm. Alex's brain caught up with him and he writhed to get out of the French teen's grip, but he didn't let go. Lafayette shifted between Thomas and his regular self, and somewhere he knew he was still having a panic attack. But that didn't matter. He fought back a scream at all costs, Thomas's imposing figure threatening to do unspeakable things to him.

 _I thought I was safe,_ he thought, flinching desperately away only to be caught by Thomas again.

"You are safe," a voice said, and once again Alexander struggled to realize that it wasn't actually Thomas. "You are safe, _Alexandre._ See? It is me, Lafayette. Breathe with me, _mon ami._ Breathe, ready?"

Everything tingled, and Alex wondered briefly if Thomas was cutting off his air supply again before his brain wrenched him back to Lafayette, who was counting softly. "One, two, three, four," he started slowly, breathing in and out with each number. Alex tried, but everything was still too blurry and those hands were just too _there_ , threatening to trap him and choke the air out of him and beat him and hold him as he's being used and caressing his hair and smacking him and-

" _Breathe,_ Alex! One, two, three-"

Lafayette was cut off by Alex's scream. His panic increased by tenfold. He wasn't supposed to scream. He wasn't supposed to make noise. Thomas was surely going to kill him. He had been doing so _well,_ too. He was going to die. Death was here, finally.

The last thing Alex saw before the darkness came was Lafayette screaming down the stairs for someone to come help.

* * *

 **Okay, yes, it's a cliffhanger, but I decided I wanted it here. I feel like this is a good place to stop. In case it's slightly confusing, Alexander has a panic attack because he realizes he's coming back to the person who hurt him just like he had with Thomas. He makes noises during said panic attack, and Laf comes out because he's wondering what's going on. Thomas and Lafayette just _happen_ to look a lot like the same person (wonder why) and Alex can't tell the difference right now. He can't breathe, which is why Laf tries to count with him. Lafayette is holding onto him because I know that when I get flashbacks, it helps me to be held by someone in order to be brought to the present. It sucks, but it works well. At least for me. **

**Alex has finally made noise... What happens now?**


	7. Illusions

"What are you doing to him?!" John screeched at Lafayette the moment he ran up the stairs at the call for help. John tackled him off of Alexander, who twitched but didn't wake up.

"Nothing! Get off!" Lafayette pushed the boy off of him, returning to Alexander. John was furious and tried again to keep him away, but George lifted him off of Lafayette once more as he came upon the scene.

"Gil, what's going on here?"

The poofy haired boy looked up at George. "I heard... I heard a noise, outside of my door, and I wondered what it was because it sounded very _effrayé_ and it was Alex and he was having a panic, and he could not breathe and he- Papa, he talked! He was very afraid. He- he was so scared, Papa, and I did what I could and we counted but it did not help, and- and he is not good-"

"Hey," George said, kneeling down to Lafayette's level and placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay. Calm down, you did what you could." Lafayette nodded shakily.

"What's wrong with him?" Hercules asked, standing next to John.

 _"_ _Il ne pouvait pas respirer, et je pense qu'il est inconscient,"_ Lafayette said. "I tried to make him breathe, I did, and he could not. We counted. He was too upset and I think he out passed."

"Passed out," John corrected.

"Yes, that."

George leaned over Alexander, listening for breathing. "He's breathing now, but it's shallow."

"Should we take him to the hospital?" Hercules asked.

 _"_ _Non! Pas d'hôpitaux!"_ Alexander suddenly shouted, rising from the floor. Everyone stood in silence at the boy who had just spoken. His voice was broken and high pitched and all the syllables were in the wrong places, but Lafayette understood the French lingo.

"He... he says no hospitals."

Everyone looked at Alexander, who was now hyperventilating against the wall, wrapping the blanket around himself. Tears were streaming down his face, and he seemed to be not all there.

"So you _can_ talk," Hercules pointed out matter-of-factly.

Alexander shook his head furiously, swiftly putting a hand to his chin, shoving it up to close it so he wouldn't talk. George thought this motion looked like Alex had performed it too many times for it to be unfamiliar.

Nobody said anything.

"Well, then..." George said, trying to break the tension. "Er, you three, why not help Alex, get him to bed. I'm... I'm gonna call Martha and tell her to come home, and I'll call my work to tell them I'm not coming in today."

Everyone nodded, except Alexander who was still upset he had spoken and was nearly on the verge of another panic attack. George left, seeing the trio kneel next to Alex and try to calm him down.

George speed-dialed his work, and the Southern-twanged accent on the other line picked up. _"Hello?"_

"Hey," he replied. "I would like to report I'm not coming into work today."

 _"Reason?"_ The other voice asked.

"One of my boys is in trouble," George said. "I need to take care of him first."

 _"I thought you only had one boy,"_ the man on the other end said.

"Well, I found another one. He'd been living on the streets for four months before Lafayette found him, and he can't talk... Anyway, just calling to let you know."

 _"Thank you, sir,"_ the voice said. _"Just out of curiosity, what's his name?"_

George chuckled. His co-workers were always excited to help him out in a situation. "Alexander."

 _"Fantastic name,"_ the other man said. _"Have a good day, Mr. Washington. I hope your boy gets better."_

"Thank you, Thomas, you have a good day as well," George said and hung up the phone with a click. He went to call Martha.

* * *

On the other side of the phone, behind a desk made of marble and granite that matched the other interior quite well, a man dressed in a black suit hung up the phone. He ran a hand through his frizzy hair, thinking.

"So, Allie, you've run to the Washington's house, have you?" He grinned. This was going to be fun.

* * *

 **I'm sorry! It's so short but Thomas! I promise the next chapter will be longer I swear! I promise! Also don't get used to fast updates.**

 **French Translations Because I Was Re-Reading Earlier Chapters and Got Confused:**

 _ **effrayé** \- _ scared

 ** _Il ne pouvait pas respirer, et je pense qu'il est inconscient -_** He could not breathe, and I think he is unconscious.

 ** _Non! Pas d'hôpitaux_ \- ** No! No hospitals!


	8. Trust (Kinda)

**To that Guest who suggested the wonderful idea about Alex knowing French: I absolutely love that idea! I wrote everyone figuring out Alex could understand French before I saw your comment, and I didn't plan it the way you suggested, but I decided to use it because that's a great idea! Thank you for that! I will put that in later!**

 **Also, keep in mind that Mrs. Abbot has a southern accent.**

 **Translations for any languages other than English will be at the bottom of the chapter.**

 **ALSO: I am aware of the odd Spanish stuff... Please no hate for the Spanish because I know that English and Spanish are really similar and there's no reason why Alex should be thinking that way but I need it for plot devices okay**

* * *

Thomas returned to the house that he had raised Alexander in. He went into the room Alex had stayed in, just like he did every night, and surveyed the room. Everything was just as Allie had left it. Clothes in the closet. Bed partially unmade and smelling of Thomas's favorite smell. The floor, spotless, and his notebook sitting on the desk in the corner.

Thomas grinned, flopping onto the bed and inhaling the scent of Alexander's sea salty - sweetish scent and his own woody apple scent mixed together. Images filled his head of what he planned to do to his precious Alex once he'd got him back... According to the official state laws, Alexander was still supposed to be primarily in his care, and when the social worker had come around for the check-up to make sure everything was okay, Thomas's tale of Alexander suddenly buckling under the pressure of living in a decent house and then finally deciding to run away, she had not at all been concerned as apparently Alexander had done so with many other houses with good, kind people. So legally, Thomas could get Alexander back and not even the Senator George Washington could do a thing about it. His house and living style complied with the foster care system, and he passed as clean for all background checks. And what he did to Alex wasn't punishment, it was just teaching him a lesson, so no issue there with using corporal punishment on a child.

Thomas laughed and sat up. He changed out of his suit and walked around in boxers until he decided that some of the clothes that he'd given Alexander were suitable. They were Thomas's own clothes, after all. And they smelled like Allie, which was a bonus.

He sat at the kitchen counter, eating macaroni and cheese, and schemed how he would get back his precious boy.

* * *

Alexander was sleeping. And for once, he didn't wake up from nightmares or from someone making a noise. He slept for three hours, then got up and walked tentatively to the living room, where everyone was situated.

"Morning, 'Lex," John greeted warmly, standing up and racing over to the sleepy boy, grabbing one hand in his own.

George smiled, standing up. Martha stood beside him and opened her arms as an invitation for a hug. She looked like she was about to cry. Alex didn't like the thought of hugs, but Martha seemed to need it more than he did, so he relented.

"I was so _worried_ about you!" She said, letting the tears fall and hugging him tightly. Alexander was confused. Why did these people worry about him?

"Oh, my Alex. My baby." Martha was odd. Alexander had never seen anyone like her. But he decided that even though it wouldn't last, he liked the feeling of being cared about. He'd missed it ever since his mother died.

He stepped back once the hug got too uncomfortable, and everyone else didn't dare to touch him. George smiled and invited him to sit down in the rocking chair that Alex had taken to.

"Will you tell us what happened, Alex?" John asked gently. Alex curled into himself, but cocked his head at John as if to ask, _which part?_

"About your previous homes... about why you just had the worst panic attack I've ever seen," John cleared. "Please?"

Alex swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak. They'd beat him if he spoke because he always spoke too much, he talked and whined and everyone hated him for it.

"You can talk," George reminded him gently. "Alex, you're safe here. We won't hurt you. You can talk as much or as little as you like. "

Hesitantly, Alex opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue. Fear overcame him and he shut it and shook his head.

"Can you sign, then?" John asked out loud while also making the symbols with his hands. Alex immediately looked at Lafayette, who looked away.

"I am truly sorry, _mon ami._ I did not ever mean silent hands. Look at me, I talk too much also. I am sorry." Lafayette looked on the edge of tears. Alex, after a few moments of thinking, nodded his head slowly and signed, _It's okay._

"He says it's okay," John translated. Lafayette looked relieved, but Alexander's hands shook.

"I will not hurt you again, _Alexandre_. I promise. _Je t'aime trop pour le faire encore,_ " Lafayette said. Alexander smiled, then, very _very_ hesitantly, raised his right hand so his palm was facing Lafayette. He folded his ring finger and his middle finger down and extended the gesture to Lafayette.

" _Mon ami!_ Does this mean you have understood French this whole time?!" Lafayette exclaimed, putting a hand to his chest in surprise. Alex nodded as an affirmative. Lafayette squealed in delight, kicking his feet excitedly.

"How many languages do you know, dude?" Hercules asked, astonished.

 _Three,_ Alex signed. _French, English, Spanish._ He paused. _Although, if you count ASL and FSL, that's five._

Hercules translated for the rest of them, and everyone was surprised Alex knew that many languages.

"Okay, so not to be rude or anything," John said, "But if you don't talk, why do you know three languages that are spoken out loud?"

Alex looked downcast, and John went to apologize, but Alex began signing before he could say anything. _I used to talk... a lot. Too much._

"Then... what happened to make you not talk?" George asked once John had said it out loud. Alexander sighed, and looked at John and Hercules, silently asking if they were ready to translate his story. They nodded and Alexander lifted his hands, ready to tell his life story.

"I was born in Nevis, on an island in the Caribbean, and my mother took care of me... I lived with her until a hurricane came and destroyed my town... And then she got sick. We both got sick. We were sick and she was holding me... Then we fell asleep. And she never woke up again."

He paused, his hands shaking, but he continued. "I moved in with my cousin, and then he committed suicide, and then I ended up coming to New York when I was 6. The foster care system placed me in my first home, with a couple..."

Alexander paused at this point, and Martha gently urged him on. "The Abbotts."

* * *

The young boy shifted his bag on his back, hanging loosely by one strap on his right shoulder. He looked at the house. It seemed decent. A normal-looking house and a lawn that had a garden in it. Americans could actually do that here?

Even for a six-year-old, he was smart. And he was smart enough to march right up to the door once his social worker dropped him off and left (weren't they supposed to stay?) and knock politely. He waited for the door to swing open and to be marched right into a lovely home with wonderful people.

So he waited.

And waited.

After about an hour, he realized maybe they weren't home. He started to panic a little, wondering what he would do until they did come home. The sun would set soon. He pressed the little button on the side of the house, unsure what it did, and to his surprise it made a lovely noise. He giggled and reached up to press it again and entertained himself with this until, a moment later, the door opened! What a magic button!

"Yes?" a lady said, standing in the doorway. "Who are you?"

"Er, _mi nombre es Alexander Hamilton,_ " he said, recognizing the English words his mother had begun to teach him before she died. He'd spoken only Spanish on the island until then and didn't know how to speak a lot of English, but he could understand it. The English pronunciations left a funny feeling on his tongue, and he never could speak the vowels correctly. He'd get laughed at in the village by other children because English used the same vowels and letters as English, but he couldn't do it.

"I'm sorry?" the lady asked.

" _Mi nombre es Alexander Hamilton,_ " Alexander said again, trying to make her understand. She was supposed to know he was here, right? These people had agreed to take him in.

"I DON'T SPEAK GIBBERISH," the lady said, loudly and slowly as if Alexander couldn't understand. He looked at her imploringly.

"Donald, honey, there's a poor boy at our door," the lady said, calling inside to what Alexander presumed was her husband. "Shall we call the cops?"

 _"¡No no!"_ Alex pleaded. " _Por favor, se supone que estoy aquí."_

"I can't understand you," the lady said. "Why are you here?"

 _"El Foster, Alexander Hamilton,"_ he said, knowing some words carried over, like his name and the word 'foster'. He hoped they would understand.

The lady leaned against the doorframe, looking at him. "Foster? Did you say foster?"

 _"¡Sí Sí!"_ Alex nodded vigorously. _"Alexander Hamilton."_

"Ohh. Right. You. They never said you spoke Spanish," the lady said. "Do you have your social worker? Or a case file? Anything?"

Alexander bit his lip. _Uh, no, mi trabajadora social me dejó aquí hace unas horas."_ He knew they wouldn't understand.

"Alright. You're going to have to use English. That gibberish-type slack isn't accepted here."

Alexander didn't know what any of that meant besides 'English', but it sounded like a command so he nodded and pulled his case file out of his backpack and handed it to her. She looked it over, and was seemingly satisfied after giving it a casual once-over. "Well, you'd best come in. I'm Annie. But you'll address me as Mrs. Abbott, you hear?"

Alexander nodded again, not understanding but a few words. English was so complicated.

"Repeat it for me," the lady asked him. He looked at her, confused. "Say what you're supposed to call me," she said, trying to simplify it.

"Oh," he said. _"S_ _eñora Abbott."_

"No, you filthy orphan," she said, grabbing him roughly by the chin. "English."

 _"No se como decir cosas en Ingles,"_ he tried, but it was hard given that he couldn't move his chin to make the sounds. Did Americans always treat people this way? Why? What was wrong with speaking Spanish?

"Mrs. Abbott," she tried again, saying it slowly. Alexander tried to copy.

"May-ses... Ab-ot?" He shook his head, not liking the feeling of the wrong syllables on his tongue. She looked at him in disdain, then released him. "Good enough."

She led him into the den, where a glowing screen with moving images was on it. Someone was watching the moving pictures. Alexander stared at it in awe.

"Donald? The foster is here."

"Great," Donald replied, uninterested.

"The foster only speaks Spanish," she informed.

"The foster will need to learn English, then," Donald said.

"I'm not teaching him," Mrs. Abbott said.

"I'm not either," Donald replied.

They _hmphed_ at each other, and then Mrs. Abbott turned to Alex. "Let's get you working, foster," she said.

 _My name isn't 'foster',_ he thought angrily but turning and following her.

"This," she said, holding up a bottle of some sort, "Is _cleaner._ Say that. Cleeen-er."

"Cleen-er," Alexander repeated dully. He knew what cleaner was, and he was fully capable of putting it to good use. Mrs. Abbott led him to a bathroom.

"Do you know what this is?" She asked, pointing to the toilet. Alexander nodded.

 _"Baño,"_ he said. She shook her head at him and spritzed the bottle of chemicals once at him. "No. Bad. It's a toilet. We don't tolerate your gibberish here, understand?"

He nodded, wiping the slightly burning chemicals off his face. "Toy-let."

"Now," she said, handing him paper towels and the cleaner, "I want this entire bathroom sparkling and you don't get any dinner until it does. Do you understand?"

Alex knew what about half of that sentence meant. He pointed to the toilet. "Cleaner?"

She waved around the entire room. "Clean."

He nodded and sprayed the cleaner into the toilet bowl and was about to reach in when she stopped him. "No, you idiot, you use the toilet brush. Don't you know _anything?_ "

He flicked his eyes downward in submission. He grabbed the handle brush she handed him unceremoniously and began scrubbing.

 _I did not know that life would be like this in the Americas,_ he thought sadly.

He kept scrubbing.

* * *

"Alex," a voice interrupted his thoughts. "Alex, baby, are you okay?"

 _Martha,_ his brain supplied. He felt a cool hand touch his face, and he flinched away, but it didn't remove itself. It sat and rested, trying to give comfort instead of hurt. Without realizing it, he leaned into the touch.

"Alexander?"

At that, his peace was interrupted. He jumped, eyes wide and wild. George, the apparent speaker, backed away from him, but Martha stayed.

"Alex, baby, you talked," Martha said to him in a gentle voice. "You talked, and we are _so_ proud of you for doing that. Do you know that?"

Immediately his breathing became shallower and he tried to scramble away, but Martha held him. "It is not a bad thing," she murmured into his ear, rocking him. "It is not a bad thing to speak out loud."

Memories surfaced of people, bad people, telling him never to speak again. The kind words uttered by her- Martha - his foster mother? - who? who was it and why were they telling him it was okay it wasn't okay- mixed with the memories and he couldn't tell reality from his nightmares.

Alexander didn't know how long he stayed like this, screaming in her arms and having difficulty breathing, he didn't know how long the lies would last from the pain, and he didn't know when it suddenly became okay as he heard her words, over and over again- "It is not a bad thing to speak out loud, Alexander." And he didn't know when he was okay with being held like this. He didn't know when he fell asleep dreaming of his mother on Nevis who would do the same thing for him over and over again when he got sick and was lost in the throes of nightmares.

And he _most certainly_ did not know what was about to happen next.

* * *

 **I've been writing this every day after school for a little bit. I hope you liked it; it's longer this time and reveals a little of Alex's past. Muahahaha! Yet another cliffhanger!**

 **Translations:**

 _ **Mon ami-**_ **my friend**

 ** _Je t'aime trop pour le faire encore -_ I love you too much to do that again**

 **Alexander signs back to Lafayette 'I love you too' after Laf says the above to him. (It's the same sign in ASL as it is in FSL, so just look up the ASL version if you want a visual. Laf understands FSL.)**

 ** _Mi nombre es Alexander Hamilton -_ My name is Alexander Hamilton**

 ** _Por favor, se supone que estoy aquí -_ Please, I'm supposed to be here**

 ** _El Foster, Alexander Hamilton -_ The foster, Alexander Hamilton**

 _ **Si, si!**_ **\- Yes, yes!**

 ** _Uh, no, mi trabajadora social me dejó aquí hace unas horas. -_ Uh, no, my social worker left me here a few hours ago.**

 ** _S_ _eñora Abbott -_ Mrs. Abbot**

 ** _No se como decir cosas en Ingles -_ I don't know how to say things in English**

 ** _Baño -_ Bathroom**

 **That whole part with Mrs. Abbott is basically his first foster family in America and I didn't want to write out the whole 'he signed' and 'John spoke for him' thing so I just wrote the scene as if we were seeing it. Alexander in that part is about six years old. And I'm aware that some of this may be a little unrealistic, but that's what an AU is for, right?**


	9. Progress

Allie's bed? Made. Clothes? Bought and hung up in the closet. Food? Stocked in the kitchen. Macaroni? Being eaten.

Thomas went over his list one more time. Everything was ready for Alex's return- now all he had to do was rescue him from those despicable Washingtons. He forked some more macaroni and cheese into his mouth and looked at the front page of the newspaper, showing a picture of Senator George Washington waving to the crowds. He sighed, irritated. Thomas saw enough of the man at work. Why did he need to see pictures of him in his personal life too? Frankly, it was irritating. He sighed, tossing the newspaper away and beginning to work on his plan to get Alexander back.

It wasn't going to be easy, that was for sure. But maybe if he just waited long enough, Washington was surely going to bring all those god-forsaken orphans he sheltered to work with him; Take Your Kid To Work Day was only a few weeks away and it was a tradition Washington never skipped. Surely he'd bring Alex along, so all he needed was a way to keep the kid quiet and take him. Thomas scowled at the thought of Alexander making noise in any kind of way- he'd need to beat it into the kid's head that it wasn't allowed. However, Thomas had left the room Alex stayed in virtually untouched, so the things he used for punishments weren't lost or anything.

Washington's problem was that he was predictable. He did the same thing every time when he brought his kids along to work. He did the same thing every day, for that matter, so you could set a clock to his schedule. So if he was predictable enough, even with this new kid, it shouldn't be hard to get Alexander alone.

Thomas chuckled darkly, and for the first time in a while, he felt optimistic about getting Alex back.

* * *

 _I sleep a lot,_ Alexander thought to himself, getting up and running his hands through his hair. It was greasy and dirty, so he planned to take a shower.

He stripped, thinking about the events of four nights ago, how he'd talked yet again and the strange phenomenon that nobody had said to stop, or that they hadn't punished him for doing it. Martha had even said it was okay to talk.

He sighed and got in the shower, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. He understood that it was okay for other people to talk. They could talk. They were the privileged, they were allowed. Him, personally, however, had been told since his arrival in America that it wasn't okay. Maybe it was just for people who could speak in more than one language, or maybe it was just for fosters.

He couldn't really be the only person who wasn't allowed to talk, surely? There had to be other people in America that weren't allowed to talk.

As he washed himself, he had the smallest sense that maybe he was the only one, and maybe it wasn't normal.

Maybe things weren't really as people had taught him.

But then, what did he know?

After his shower, Alexander was afraid enough that he would have stayed in his room for the rest of the day, probably, and his caretakers probably would have let him, but around lunchtime, people were up and about and the smell of food was more than enough to lure him out of his room.

 _They're accepting,_ he tried to remind himself, staring at the doorknob. _They won't make you do anything you don't want to._

He sighed and before he could talk himself out of it, he wrenched the door open and stood in the doorway, willing his own feet to move. They didn't want to.

 _Come on, move!_

He stood there for a moment longer until a noise from the room over startled him. Lafayette stepped out, yawning. He caught sight of Alex and a grin sprang on his face.

 _"Alexandre!_ How are you feeling?"

As if on reflex, his hands moved to say _I'm doing okay but you kind of startled me_ but at the last second, they froze. Everything froze and he remembered the terrible words that he'd been told. _"Silent hands."_

And then everything moved again and for the first time that morning, the world had noise and movement and he could feel himself again.

 _I'm doing okay,_ he signed.

"Well... being okay is better than not! So I am going to assume you are doing well, yes?" Lafayette grinned, proud of himself for recognizing the 'okay' part of Alex's sentence, as he had been practicing. "Are you ready for breakfast? It smells _délicieux,_ no?"

And with that he started down the stairs. Alexander followed, because it _did_ smell delicious. And he was hungry, which didn't happen often.

He got to the kitchen, and Lafayette was already talking a mile a minute, which Alexander never stopped to consider before now. If Lafayette had come to this country as an immigrant, just as he had, wouldn't he have been told to be quiet? Lafayette could speak more than one language. And he had started off as a foster child, too. Why hadn't _he_ been told not to talk? He certainly talked as much as Alex had, if not more.

It didn't make sense to Alex. He had been sure that people like him had all been taught the same thing.

Right?

"Hello, Alex," Martha interrupted his musings. "Would you like some breakfast? We have pancakes and bacon this morning, but also cereal if you'd like some, and some yogurt."

He smiled politely at her, then pointed towards the pancakes and bacon. Suddenly it had seemed a lot less appetizing than moments before, but he had just realized something that had changed his perspective on his life since he was six years old.

Martha fetched him some pancakes, and the syrup. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded, even though his sleep time had felt short and didn't leave him well rested at all.

"Good," she said, seeming satisfied.

He pretended not to hear her and didn't respond. His stomach turned in turmoil; forcing down a rash of bacon and half a pancake was all he could manage. Quickly he ran upstairs and threw himself on his bed and thought.

Was it really truly not a normal thing to be told that you couldn't talk?

* * *

"I guess you did a decent job, for a foster," Mrs. Abbot said, examining his work in the bathroom. "You'll get dinner tonight, I suppose." She turned and walked away, and quickly Alex followed her, talking excitedly. Maybe he had passed some sort of test, and now they would treat him like their son, like he had heard they were supposed to.

 _"Estoy contento de haber hecho un buen trabajo. ¡Gracias por darme comida!"_ He could really like this woman, she seemed approachable if you did the things she liked. However, he was ignored, and when they got to the kitchen she merely put a plate on the table.

Unfortunately, the table was more like a raised counter, and Alex wasn't tall enough or strong enough to pull himself on the spinning seats.

" _¿Usted me podría ayudar por favor?_ " He asked, but she just glared at him.

"You can get up. Unless you don't think you're good enough to sit at the table like the rest of us? Is that it?" Alexander shrank back. He didn't know what to do or say; he was just too short to climb the chair properly and this woman seemed to be mad at him for it.

" _No, no es así-"_

She slammed her hands on the table, effectively cutting him off. "If you can't speak English, then you need to learn or just don't speak at all!"

He was stunned. He understood now. _Learn how to talk or don't talk at all._

Fine. He would learn. He would learn how to talk. He'd listen to everyone, everything, learn what it was in English. He could do that. If doing that would make these people accept him, fine.

 _Mama, you will be proud of me!_ He was determined now.

But first, he had to figure out a way to get that food on the table.

* * *

Alexander woke with a snort. He looked at the clock. It read 2:15 pm. He'd only been asleep for about an hour, and he'd dreamed of his first home here. Odd.

A knock came on his door, and he got up and answered it. It was John, come to talk.

"Hi," he said. "I saw you rushed out of the kitchen earlier, so I came up to talk but you were asleep, so I figured I'd come back later. Are you okay?"

Alexander nodded, sitting back on his bed. _I just had a realization and I'm not sure how to feel about it yet._

"What do you mean?" John asked aloud as well as signed, just to make Alexander feel better.

Alexander looked around warily; John caught his wrist gently and looked at him. "It's okay," he said. "You can tell me. Remember what we practiced?"

The mute boy nodded shakily. The last four days had been extended conversations between him and John, and John had been extremely supportive and patient when Alex decided to open up to him.

"Here," John, getting up and locking the door. "Do you want me to search the room?"

Alexander nodded, feeling ashamed that he was so unused to this, but he also felt safe because he knew John would do his best to make sure there was nobody with them. After the sweep of the room, John sat back down.

"There's nobody here," he said. "Do what you're comfortable with, okay?"

Alex took a deep breath and swallowed. He could do this, it was just John and he had proved that nothing bad was going to happen.

"Okay," Alexander whispered, breathing out. He pulled his knees close to his chest, staring at John, who was grinning so big he looked like his face was going to fall off.

"Good job, Alex!" He praised, hugging him. "You did it!"

A small smile threatened to grace the silent boy's face, and he looked a little bit happier. John was ecstatic.

"Do you feel okay saying anything else? Don't push it, remember."

"I- I think s-so," Alexander whispered again, then a breathy laugh forced its way out. He was talking, he was really talking! He had missed it, but it had been so long since he had talked or made noise that he had kind of forgotten how, though he still knew his languages. In the beginning, Alexander couldn't bring himself to make more than just noise in general, but now they had moved onto words. He never spoke very many, but it increased minimally every day. John would always make sure to shower him in praises for doing what he was able to, once he'd regained the knowledge. John had taken a dictionary and taught Alex how to pronounce certain things, though he could pronounce some from memory. He mixed up Spanish and English, then would correct himself in French, but John soon proved that as long as it was just the two of them, it was okay to make mistakes. They had formed a small bond of trust, and Alex was improving each day. He stuttered and was still afraid, but John managed to convince him that it all would be okay as long it was just them in the room.

"I'm so proud of you!" Said John.

"Th-thank you," Alex said, still not going above a whisper.

"Well," John started off slowly, as to not overwhelm the hesitant boy in front of him, "do you think you have the right words to say what's bothering you?"

Alex nodded. "I... I think..." he swallowed. "I _was_ th-thinking th-that..." He suddenly took a deep breath and hid his face in the blankets. John immediately went to comfort him.

"Too much at once?" John said. "Do you need to stop?"

Alexander nodded, almost crying. _I'm sorry,_ he signed.

"Don't be sorry," John said. "You did so much today and it's completely normal to need to stop. It's okay, Alexander." He hugged the crying boy again, comforting him again until he could breathe without hiccuping.

"Well, hey," John grinned. "Sign to me what's bothering you instead."

So Alex told him of his revelation that maybe his treatment when he'd come to the Americas wasn't normal, probably.

"Of course it's not normal, Alexander," John said softly. "When kids come here they're supposed to be loved and cared for. It's not okay for anyone to be treated like you were."

 _So it's not normal,_ Alex signed, sadly. _I was right._

They sat in silence for a bit, until John broke the silence by asking if he wanted to try talking again.

 _I don't know,_ Alex said. _I don't know._

"We could just go through the dictionary again, work on your word practice," John offered, bringing out the book. "Would that be okay?"

Alexander nodded. Speaking his mind was something he had yet to practice, but he was too afraid to at this point. Speaking just words and making noise was getting better, so he guessed the dictionary was okay.

"Alright," John said. "We'll take it slow, and remember to stop if it gets too much, okay?"

Alexander nodded again. John opened the dictionary to the first word. "Say ' _aardvark'_."

Alexander knew this one, even with all the strange syllables. "A-ardvark." It was soft and slowly spoken, but spoken nonetheless and he was proud of himself for defying what Thomas had told him, even if it was seven years later. He felt his confidence grow, and apparently it was visible to John, who smiled.

"Alright, that was good! Your next word is.."

* * *

"So I think I'm getting pretty good at this sign language thing," Martha said from her position on the couch, watching Alexander and John sign to each other and then to her, Lafayette and George, trying their best to teach them.

"Good," John said.

Alexander held up an apple, silently telling himself the English, Spanish, and French words for it and moving his mouth to accommodate the syllables. _Apple, manzana, pomme._ Then he looked expectantly at Martha, Lafayette, and George for them to give him the sign.

They all made a fist and placed the knuckle of their right index fingers against their cheeks, at the same time, pivoting them back and forth. Alexander smiled encouragingly.

 _Good,_ he signed. _You all are getting good._

"You... all... are getting good," George tried. "Did I get it right?"

Alexander grinned and gave him jazz hands in approval. _Maybe,_ he thought, _sometime it'll be okay enough to talk in front of them._

* * *

 **Okay yes it's been a while but this story is still going strong. I have plans for this story so I'll finish it, I promise.**

 **Anyway, John has basically been Alexander's voice therapist. We see more of his past and see that the others are learning sign language to better understand Alex, but he's going to surprise them with a few spoken words soon with the help of John.**

 **Translations!**

 _ **délicieux-**_ **French for 'delicious'**

 _ **Estoy contento de haber hecho un buen trabajo. ¡Gracias por darme comida!-**_ **Spanish for "I'm happy to have done a good job. Thank you for giving me food!"**

 _ **¿Usted me podría ayudar por favor?-**_ **Spanish for "Could you help me please?"**

 ** _No, no es así_ \- -Spanish for "No, no, it's not like that-"**

 **And then _manzana_ is Spanish for "apple" while _pomme_ is the French word.**

 **And this chapter is actually normal length, but to me it kinda seems short. But oh well** **¯\\_(ツ)_/¯**


	10. Old Habits Die Hard

**Good news! I'm taking an ASL class at school so now I'm a little fluent in it, not completely yet. I'm at the point where I can sign everything Alexander and John and Hercules do in this except for a few words so yay!**

 **I also am going to see Hamilton on Broadway in four days and I'm _really_ excited! It's with my school drama class cause I'm a theatre nerd haha but I get to see the play _and_ I get to go to six theatre workshops where I learn to do Professional Theatre Things and the workshops will be taught by the Hamilton cast and crew!**

 **So yeah! Exciting news!**

 **Okay, onto the story, sorry for rambling. :P**

 **Also Big BIG warning for blood and such towards the end of the chapter...**

* * *

"Hey, boys!" George said as he came down the stairs. Alexander, John and Lafayette were sitting in the living room on different couches, tossing a ball to each other as John and Lafayette spoke.

A chorus of "Hey dad," and "Hey, Mr. Washington," met his ears and he smiled. He noticed John and his son looking expectantly at Alexander and he paused for a moment, wondering what was happening. Then a soft, breathy, but still loud enough to hear voice came from Alexander as he said, "Hey, Mr. Washington.

George grinned so widely as John and Lafayette hugged Alexander, who was also grinning.

"Good job, _mon ami!_ " Lafayette exclaimed. "I knew you could do it."

"I'm proud of you, 'Lex," John said.

George finally made it down the stairs and congratulated Alexander on his progress. Alexander seemed genuinely happy that he'd come so far. "Thank you," he said again in his very soft voice, signing at the same time.

"He says he's going to try and talk for all of today," John said. "Nothing big, but everything he signs he's going to try and say out loud."

Alexander nodded fervently. It had been a while since he'd come here and it was odd, because he felt quite comfortable with this family, unlike any other kind of thing he'd had before. He knew, without a doubt, that these people had a sort of _love_ for him- and he for them. And he liked it. He liked being here with them and he liked being able to talk and to have a full meal every day three times a day.

But mostly, he liked being with them- all of them.

"Well," George said, interrupting his thoughts. "Today is a very important day." He looked towards Lafayette, who was bouncing with excitement. Alexander frowned. Was it Laf's birthday? He hadn't done anything special- not that he knew what to do, because he'd only celebrated his own birthday once that he could remember.

"Today," George continued with mounting excitement, "I have the opportunity to take you all with me to work. It's take-your-kid-to-work day!" He flourished a newspaper which held the headline _Take Your Child To Work Day Begins!_

Lafayette sprang from his place in excitement. "Yes! This day is most exciting!"

Alexander smiled, albeit confused. What was take your child to work day? Who did that? Children weren't supposed to be in a place of work, that's what Thomas had said. What they _all_ had said, all his foster families.

"This is the day that we get to see Father wandering around the halls of the senate!" Lafayette said. "I love it there, it is so pretty."

"He's right," George said. "He's also just excited because he gets to skip school."

Lafayette blushed, but didn't deny it. "It is fun being there."

"I've invited Hercules along as well," George said. "Alex, John, you can come if you want also."

"Sure!" John said. "Herc says he's on the way."

They only had to wait a few minutes, entertained by Lafayette's tales of his previous adventures in George's office. Hercules arrived shortly and after a few cinnamon rolls baked by Martha they were off.

"You're doing great with the talking thing," Hercules commented to Alex as everyone made their way to the front door where John was now standing waiting for them.

"Thanks," Alex said, smiling. He felt confident, and was glad for the chance of going out so that he could test himself in public situations. Plus, he knew that if he did decide to back out that nobody here would judge him for it. These people were so nice- Alex hoped he could stay with them forever.

* * *

Eight fifty-eight AM. George was out in the parking lot now, parking his car and getting out his briefcase. In two minutes he would be inside and in two minutes, Thomas would see his beloved Alexander again after so long.

"Hey," he said, nudging his co-worker Sally Hemings. "I gotta pee. Watch the front desk for me for a few minutes?"

Sally nodded and he took off in the direction of the bathroom, but hid behind a pillar at the last second where he could see people entering but they likely would not see him.

His excitement rose as George walked in with four kids in tow. And there, standing next to the weird French kid, was his Alexander. His beautiful Alexander. Thomas nearly leapt for joy. However, upon taking a closer look, Alexander had improved on his physical state quite a bit. Gone was the thin, raggedy child Thomas had been so careful to not feed too much. In his place stood a healthy looking boy with a sparkle in his beautiful eyes and curly hair washed, neatly combed and tied back into a ponytail. His clothes didn't have any holes in them and what stood out to Thomas the most was that Alex looked confident with these people, not hunched over like he'd been taught.

One of the kids nudged him, saying something. Alex nodded, a small smile on his face. Thomas's eyes narrowed. _He_ was the only one who was allowed to make Alexander laugh, not some kid with a weird limp and admittedly beautiful hair. He watched as Alexander smiled shyly and the other kid rubbed his neck, blushing.

"Thomas?" A voice came from behind him and he whirled around to see another Senator he despised, a man named George King. "What are you doing?"

"Um..." He knew this looked very suspicious. He snuck a glance back towards Alexander and the Washingtons, who were walking away to tour the building, finally. "I just went to the bathroom and zoned out here."

King nodded. "Okay then. I'll walk you back to the desk, if you'd like. I need to talk to Sally anyway."

Thomas nodded. "Sure."

Fortunately it was a short walk so they didn't have to make too much small talk; Thomas talked about France and then King walked off with Sally.

Unfortunately, it took a _long_ time for Thomas's break to come- which came at noon if there was someone else to take over the visitor's desk. Sally still wasn't back and she didn't appear until about one in the afternoon- blushing madly and her clothes and hair disheveled. She smelled of sweat and apologized to Thomas for being gone so long.

"Then you can take three hours off my shift _after_ my break," he said, annoyed. An hour long break and three hours after that would be enough time to get Alexander alone and home, hopefully. Well, who was he kidding? It would be more than enough time.

She didn't protest and Thomas wandered off, following Alexander and the other children around, although not looking suspicious.

Finally, about an hour into following them, Alexander was alone. The other three had all dispersed around the gift shop, wondering what to make Washington buy for them after he got off work. Alex stood in the corner of the shop, looking at the selection of mugs the place had stocked.

This would be _unbelievably_ easy.

* * *

Alexander came to consciousness slowly. What had happened? Where was he, and where was John and Lafayette and Hercules?

He opened his eyes and met a sky-blue wall in front of him. His brain instantly supplied memories of his old room.

"Chloroform," a voice said and Alexander whirled around to see none other than the man who was supposed to take care of him, Thomas Jefferson.

"No," Alex said, eyes widening in horror. "No, no, please, not here..."

Thomas's eyes narrowed. "Learning to talk, I see," he said. "What have I told you about that?"

"I... I-" Alexander tried to push himself through the walls, he was pressing against them so hard. "Please..."

"You should know that begging won't get you anywhere," Thomas said menacingly. "Living with those good-for-nothing Washingtons really reset your brain, huh?"

Alex wisely said nothing.

"Anyway," Thomas continued, lounging back in his chair, casually waving a knife in the air, "You're here to stay this time. I've been so busy getting everything ready for you to come back home!"

"Th-this isn't my home," Alex said, voice stronger than ever somehow. Thomas glared at him.

"I suppose you're right," he said after a while. "It _was_ your home, and it has to be your home again, since you've been gone so long."

That had not been anywhere close to what Alex was getting at, but Thomas moved on anyway. "You'll be staying in here forever," he said. "I've already taken the liberty of buying handcuffs for you, but I was gonna wait until you wake up to put them on you." He grinned. "I missed having you here. I _love_ you, Alex, you know that, right?"

Alexander had one habit, and that was being able to fall into old habits very easily. He nodded yes shakily, even though he was pretty sure love wasn't supposed to be like this.

Thomas laughed gleefully. "You do! Oh I know you knew. And I knew you loved me too! That's why you came back!"

Alex nodded again. Thomas was getting into one of his weird moods again, where he'd be insanely happy but could turn into dark and angry and depressed in an instant, especially if Alexander didn't do what he wanted.

"We're so good together," Thomas said. "You're so precious to me, 'Lex, you have no idea."

Alex had a pretty good idea of how 'precious' he was to Thomas.

"Now," he said. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you, 'Lex?"

He only nodded again. Speaking was against the rules in this house.

"But you've already been bad," Thomas continued, and Alexander felt fear in his heart. "Talking when you know you shouldn't."

Alexander gritted his teeth, willing himself to be prepared for whatever Thomas was planning. Probably something to do with the knife he was still waving in the air.

"Which means that I have to teach you _all over again,_ " the other man said. "But just because I love you, I'll start off easy."

He got up and grabbed one of Alexander's hands, attached one end of the handcuffs around his wrist, and the other end to the bedpost. He did the same with the other hand and positioned him until he was lying on the bed.

Thomas lifted his shirt and place the knife to his ribs. "I won't kill you," he said. "Don't worry."

Alex fought with himself to keep his screams in as Thomas dragged the knife deep into his skin, following the line of bone his ribs made.

"First one done," Thomas said. "You're already being such a good boy. I can tell you're sorry for talking, aren't you?"

Alexander found it in himself somewhere to nod. Thomas moved over to the other side of his ribcage.

"Well then, only two more after this, just for you," he said. "You're a good boy, Alex." He sliced open the skin again and Alexander struggled, but that made Thomas unhappy. He dug in the knife more until Alexander finally stopped moving.

Tears ran down his face but he managed to keep his pain inside.

"I don't know how you do it," Thomas said, going back to the beginning side and sawing through his skin on a different rib. "If I was you I don't think I could keep quiet." He twisted the knife and Alexander screamed unexpectedly.

"Tsk, tsk," Thomas shook his head. "'Lex..."

Alexander let himself cry freely as he wished that the Washingtons, Hercules, even John were here to save him.

"Nobody will even notice you're gone," Thomas said, as if he was reading Alexander's mind. "You're so small. Insignificant. Nobody will notice you're not around."

 _They'll come for me_ , Alexander thought. _They will._

Thomas ran out of ribs and decided to cut him open on his collarbones, praising him all the while for being good.

Alexander looked up at the ceiling, his entire torso on fire. _But when?_

* * *

 **THIS STORY WILL NOT DIE, I PROMISE**


End file.
